


Moriah Coda - Survival

by Delighted_Librarian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s14e20 Moriah, Post-Episode: s14e20 Moriah, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 10:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18809623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delighted_Librarian/pseuds/Delighted_Librarian
Summary: I watched the end of Moriah and my brain would not turn off. So this is where my brain took me. This is how I imagine the aftermath of the season finale playing out. I also bring back a few side characters that have so much potential but have been forgotten about in recent seasons. I enjoy exploring the Supernatural world from side characters, so I've created a few OCs to move the story along.





	1. Father Baxter

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN S14E20 DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER
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> Okay, I'm assuming you have seen the finale. This is what happens after an epic zombie battle and what I am calling "Gate Day," when hell is emptied out and all those souls and demons are released on earth. Very s5e1, except fewer demons and a lot more ghosts and zombies.   
> Warning, there are descriptions of zombie battles and blood magic.

Father George Baxter slowed his truck to see better in this strange night, he was exhausted from the day. Around 1 pm, he had been in the international grocery store when it had gotten instantly dark outside. Everyone in the store had stopped what they were doing and stared out the windows in the front of the store. After a few moments of silence a few people had talked of tornadoes, others about another apocalypse and a few had just brushed it off with all the other weird crap that had been happening for a decade that they didn’t want to deal with, bought their groceries and went home. Father Baxter had to admit his mind had run through verses in the bible of red moons, night during the day and day during the night and other prophecies of the second coming of Christ. He would be needed back at the church. A few of his congregation would probably gather there to reassure themselves.

He had bought his groceries, reassured a few people in the store who came to him when they saw his frock and started the hour drive back to his little church. The joy of working in such a rural parish was that he knew all his people, the frustrations were that he knew all his people and that he lived an hour away from a grocery store with any imported food. The drive was taking longer than usual, he stopped at three cars on the side of the road to make sure that people were okay. 

Now, he was almost to the church and he could see two people in the road. The taller one was closer to Father Baxter and put a hand up to shield his eyes from the father’s headlights. He held a gory fire poker of some sort in that hand. Father Baxter slowed even more. The man was bloody and beaten. The other man was some distance behind but obviously trying to keep up. Father Baxter looked at the man closer to him and wasn’t sure how the man was still on his feet. 

The other man was catching up to the first man. He was dirty and also held some sort of poker in his hand. As Father Baxter drew the truck to a stop close to the first man, the second caught up, and before the Father had opened his door the second man came up behind the first who started to turn and was stabbed through the back. The first man didn’t hesitate but shoved his poker in the eye of the second and watched him fall to the ground unmoving. Father Baxter sat still his hand still on the door handle, the door still closed. The first man turned back to the truck and started shuffling forward. That was when the Father recognized the tattoo under the blood on the first man’s chest, a demon anti-possession tattoo. The man was probably a hunter. 

A part of him was comforted the thought another part of him more on edge. Hunters were a touchy group and most fell into one of two groups devout or anti-religion. A priest a few parishes over had had his nose broken by a hunter who hadn’t liked what the priest's frock represented. Slowly Father Baxter opened the door and keeping his hands high slid out of the truck.

“Hello.” he said as he came out from behind the truck door. The hunter stopped moving and looked at him. Slowly the Father came closer, keeping his hands high. “I’m Father Baxter. What happened?” The man didn’t respond and the Father came closer but there was no way he was getting within reach of the man’s poker until he knew how that man would react. They were about twenty feet apart when the Father recognized the tear tracks on the man’s face. 

“Their dead,” the man said in a flat voice. Father Baxter wasn’t sure who the man was referring to. 

“Who is dead?” the Father stopped walking about ten feet from the man.

“All of them.” The man’s face was twisted in anguish. The Father looked down at that second man, the one who had just been killed and realized he had known him. It was Peter Sodersen. He had died two weeks ago, buried in the church cemetery a few hundred yards down the road. How did a dead man walk down a road and stab someone with a poker?

“All of who?” 

The man looked down and his voice dropped pitch so the Father could hardly make out the words, “Same case, Jack, zombies, me.” On the word ‘me’ he looked up then collapsed falling onto his side. The Father ran to catch him but was too slow. The man was unconscious and a pool of blood was forming under him. He pulled off his jacket and wadded it up next to the poker sticking out of the man’s abdomen. There didn’t seem to be much blood on the man’s back. Hunters didn’t usually like hospitals, but there was no way this man would survive without one. 

The first gulf war had been an eye opener for the Father. He had been a chaplain, but he had found those skills insufficient for his conscious. He had trained to become a medic and once again his medical skills were going to be used for more than scraped knees. The Father ran back to his truck, climbed into his truck bed and opened the storage truck to find his combat medic kit. He had wondered why he had felt inspired to keep the kit and his certification current...

Kneeling next to the wounded man he cut the man’s clothes off and went to work. It was amazing how well his training served him and how needed he was in this particular moment. When the abdominal wound was under control and the IV in, Father Baxter bandaged the man’s shoulder which needed more help than he could give it and looked at his other wounds. He cleaned and stitched the worst of the wounds including what even the Father recognized as zombie bites for another ten minutes before deciding the man was ready to be moved. 

He pulled the truck up as close to the man as he could and as gently as possible lifted the man into the passenger seat and covered him with an emergency blanket. He looked over at Peter Soderson and contemplated putting him in the truck bed but realized that would just make things more complicated and pulled Peter into the trees promising he would rebury him as soon as he could. Threw the man's bloody clothes and his medical kit in the back storage bin before turning the truck around and speeding to the regional medical center.


	2. Lies

He had called from the road and pulled into the EMT entrance. Someone must have recognized his truck because before he had pulled to a stop they were opening the passenger door and preparing to pull the man out. Father Baxter gave those pulling the man out a few details about the man’s condition until they had him out of the truck before he climbed out himself. He held his keys in his hand and forced himself to not try to take control of the situation.

A woman with a clipboard rescued him, “Father Baxter, correct?” He looked at the 40ish woman and sighed. 

“Yes. That’s me.” She smiled. 

“Great, why don’t you give your keys to Wes,” a young man who could have been the woman’s daughter came up beside him, “and he can park your truck.” The Father handed the keys over with a ‘thanks’ and the woman continued. “What can you tell me about the man you brought in?”

“I found him walking up Route five,” Why was he lying? it had been Cedar Avenue off of Route Five. “A man came out of the woods behind him. While I was still a ways down the road the second man stabbed the first through the stomach. Then the first man turned and stabbed the second through the eye.” He paused and shuddered trying not to remember worse carnage he had seen in combat. “The second man was dead, I tried to talk to the first but he never responded, then he collapsed. I was a field medic in the first gulf war and keep and up to date kit in my truck. I grabbed it and went to work. Soon as I thought he wouldn’t bleed out, I packed him in the truck and drove here. I gave his vitals as I knew them to the team that took him away.”

“Thank you. That was brave of you. I’m sure the police officer will have more questions for you but first what else can you tell us about the man?”

“I’m not sure. I’d guess a little younger than you, fit. He works hard for a living. I noticed a tattoo and a few scars, but… He had been in a fight, probably outnumbered, and gave as good as he got.”

“Do you know who he is? Did he have a wallet?”

“I’ve never seen him before. There was nothing in his pockets. Is he in surgery?”

“He will be as soon as they’ve completed a few scans.” She looked him in the eye. “He was lucky you were there. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up. 

 

An hour later he was showered, in scrubs, feeling naked without his frocked collar and lying to Carly Snow the police officer questioning him about the man. Carly wasn’t a part of his congregation, but in a county with only three small churches, you still knew everyone and they knew you. “So you left his clothes, next to the body of the other man?”

“Yes. I was more worried about the living than the dead, or evidence. Sorry, that makes your job harder.” 

She smiled grimly. “You put the living first. I can’t argue that logic. 

“The murder weapon is with the dead body?”

“I didn’t touch it.”

“Good, You said it happened Somewhere between Quill and Feather lanes?”

“I think so. It was dark despite being only 2 something in the afternoon. And what I saw became far less important as what I was seeing.”

“And just to double check, you have never seen this man before?”

“No.” True.

“He had no ID on him?”

“No.” And a number of blades and lock picks now sitting in the back of my truck.

“And he never said anything the whole time you were with him?”

“Nothing I could make out. In the truck, he mumbled a few times but I couldn’t make it out. But I was also driving and talking to the hospital at the time.” Another lie since he had talked audibly if incoherently most of the way to the hospital.

“Alright. There were a number of accidents when the sky went dark this afternoon. We’ll head out there to look for the body as soon as we can. You should go home, Do you have services planned for tonight?”

“No, thankfully, but I do have an early morning service tomorrow I still need to prepare for.”

“Alright, Be safe.” she stood shook his hand and left the small conference room they had been ushered into. He sighed. He was going to have to do some serious repenting after all the lying he had done this afternoon. He looked at his watch. Only 4:28pm. It felt so much later than that. He imagined parents at least would be glad of the dark as it would help their little ones go to sleep early tonight. 

He stopped at the charge desk to check on the John Doe. He had been airlifted to Topeka and was In surgery there, probably would be for a while, but he could always call to check on him. And good job Father, your a hero, you saved his life.

Father Baxter didn’t feel like a hero. Didn’t feel like a savior. He was a lier. Had perjured himself for a stranger, since the truck ride hadn’t technically been a confessional. And now he had to go bury a body and figure out why Peter Sodersen had become a Zombie. He had a lot of questions to find answers for. He had heard of hunter priests, but had never thought he would have to become one. 


	3. Corpses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Lots of corpses but not detailed descriptions.

The Valet, Wes, had taken his truck to where they cleaned up the ambulances and while the cab smelled of disinfectant and the leather seats were damp, the only trace of the near dying man having been there were the darker splotches on the seats and floor of the passenger seat. They had even taken it to the car wash since apparently there had been a large amount of blood on the outside of the truck too. He drove almost ten miles back into the country before he pulled into a gas station. He fueled up, bought a 10 gallons of water and climbed in back.

The storage trunk had been washed off, but when he opened it he was sure that nothing had been touched. He restocked his kit with the supplies he had been given at the hospital, “for a good Samaritan”, and went through the man’s clothes. Before he had been looking for any kind of medical bracelet or card, this time he was looking for clues. 

Even as he thought it he felt like a child with a spyglass playing Sherlock Holmes, but he had to know more. He went through each item inch by inch, the jeans, shirts, and jacket were garbage. He would throw them in the fire as soon as he could. The boots were stained but possibly salvageable. It was the four knives, three lock pick sets and photos he found that kept his attention. The blades were all high quality and the picks could probably open most locks. He wiped off the pictures as well as he could and slipped them into the chest pocket of the scrubs he was wearing.

As he drove back to the site he pondered the pictures he had found. One was old, from the eighties, worn and showed a young family, Dad, Mom, and two little boys on a canoe. The other based on the clothes was recent. It showed four men and a woman. One was the tall short-haired man from the road; a taller man with longer hair maybe a little younger; another man around their age but of average height; and the fourth, a young man, maybe 20 years old; the woman was the mom from the other picture but she had hardly aged. All five of them were in flannel, and clinking beer bottles together and smiling. He had seen two guns and four knives on them. 

Father Baxter had loaded Peter Sodersen into the truck bed and was dumping the water over the bloody road when his phone rang. He wiped his hands on his pants and pulled out his phone. It was a number he didn’t know.

“Hello.” He said trying for as neutral a tone as he could.

“Father Baxter?”

“This is he.”

“It’s Walt. I got your message. I’m afraid I’ve been a little busy with my own supernatural problems today. You said you have zombies?”

“I think I did.” he summarized what he had seen on the road for Walt. “So, zombies, right?”

“Probably. The hunter you found stabbed it in the eye and it fell down dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Then you got the easy zombies. Some Zombies are a lot harder to keep dead. You think there are any more of them?”

“I hope not, but maybe. Listen, I just finished loading that one into my truck bed when you called. What do I do with it?”

“Well, you can bury him again, since you know where his grave is, but personally I’d salt and burn the corpse. Who was the hunter? He make it?”

“I don’t know who it was. Big guy, but then again most of you hunters seem to be big.” 

“The smaller guys don’t always make it unless they are quick.”

“This guy was incoherent. He kept mentioning a Jack, and something about a case… Any chance you can get out here tonight?”

“Sorry Father, I’m in Georgia right now. Let me call around and see if anyone is near you. I’ll call when I know something.”

“Great. Wait! Before you go, if I run into another zombie what do I do?”

“If it is the same type as the one in your truck, it’s just like the movies. Destroy the brain. If that doesn’t work, you have to stake it into its coffin. But I’ve heard some crazy stories where neither of those worked. So, you’re religious Father. Pray it is like the one the other hunter killed for you.” the line went dead and the Father sighed again. 

It took him three minutes of driving to turn down a side road and get to the cemetery where Peter had originally been laid to rest. Two old cars were parked in the drive, one a clunker, the other a vintage Chevy. The cemetery was a wreck. 

Of the eight street lamps, only one closest to him was still upright and on, two were bent and the light was out, the others were bent 90 degrees towards the far side of the cemetery. To his right was a dark mound of earth and from it jagged cracks in the earth led to cracked and smashed headstones. The far side of the cemetery from the fountain looked like a bulldozer had flattened it and the fountain itself was almost hidden by a pile of bodies. Father Baxter turned and lost his lunch. 

When his stomach realized it had been empty for a while, he wiped his mouth and mentally put on his field medic persona. He took a few pictures, sent them to Walt asking for a clean up crew if possible. It was a battleground and he would inspect it as such. He went to his truck, slung the med kit over his head and shoulder and picked up the poker the hunter had used to kill Peter a second time and using his phone as a flashlight methodically checked every body. He saved the fountain area for last, going slowly and methodically, pulling each body he checked off the pile and if he recognized them pulled them to their gravestone. As he worked on the pile around the fountain he imagined the battle in his head. The hunter and presumably another hunter named Jack had stood back to back at the fountain. One had released a spell unleashing a power toward the far side of the cemetery killing all the zombies and trees on that side for a good 200 yards. They had stood on the benches and the edge of the empty fountain to give themselves an advantage, and to keep them from getting tangled in the dead. The more he moved bodies he realized that they had been protecting someone or something and that he was not the first person to go through the dead. 

Father Baxter looked at his cemetery. He had pulled over thirty bodies to their tombstones, but the rest he had moved into piles of ten. He had over eleven piles. Most of the tombstones were broken and the fountain was full of gore and the praying woman who had been on the top of the fountain had been knocked off her base and into the basin. He had killed ten more zombies who had been too incapacitated to move far on their own. 

With a heavy heart, the Father went to the gardener’s shed and turned on the hose to wash himself off before going home then to the church where according to his text messages many of his congregants were gathering. He would be with them and keep them away from the cemetery until Walt’s friends could help him figure out what to do with over a hundred corpses. 


	4. Landfall

James looked at the hotel room door. The knock came again this time with a raspy whisper, “James, let us in.” He knew that voice and with a hand crackling with power, padded barefoot to the door, Portia the dog right behind him. He opened the door and lifted the hand with power and paused. Two men stood in the doorway. Both covered in gore, James recognized the bigger of the two being supported by the smaller man. He lowered his hand and the two stumbled into the room until the smaller man could drop Sam Winchester onto the bed. Sam looked up at James and simply said: “Help me.” Before his eyes rolled up and he passed out. 

Portia jumped up on the bed and nuzzled Sam’s side, then started sniffing his whole body. James looked at the other man who, now that he had James’ attention, started talking. “Sam said that you were nearby and could help. He’s been shot by a, a, a spirit gun.” the other man drops a silver gun onto the bed. “It sends a wave of multidimensional energy across a perfectly balanced quantum link between whoever's shooting it and whoever they're shooting at. The bleeding stopped, but he’s just getting worse. Can you help him?” James looked from the man to Portia and down at Sam Winchester. How on earth did you get shot with a wave of multidimensional energy?

“Portia, we are going to have a discussion as to how he knew we were here later. For now, help me.” The dog whined a tiny bit then in the blink of an eye turned into a beautiful young woman. 

“I’ll get your supplies. He was fighting zombies and got hurt in addition to the gunshot.” James approached Sam on the bed and using a small spell cut the clothes and bandages away from the wound in his shoulder. Gently he rolled Sam over to see the exit wound.

“It probably would have been okay, except for the whole fighting zombies. Who are you anyways?” James asked even as he went through the different treatment options he could think of. 

“I’m Castiel. Friend to the Winchesters. Thank you for caring for Sam. Right now, I need to go take care of Jack. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” James’ head came up at that. 

“You’re leaving?” Portia came back carrying a case she had rummaged through the closet for. 

“Jack Kline Winchester is dead.” Castiel’s voice broke on the word ‘dead’. “He is in the back of the truck. I’ll be back.” With that Castiel turned and left, leaving James and Portia with an unconscious Sam on their bed. 

“That guys is not human. Who is Jack?” James asked Portia.

“I have no idea.” She handed him a bottle and started grinding herbs. 

  
  


It was three days before Castiel returned with another knock on the door in the middle of the night. He was clean and in fresh clothes but if anything he looked worse that he had covered in gore. “Where have you been?” Portia asked once Castiel had moved a chair next to Sam’s bed and sat down.

“I gave Jack a hunter’s funeral then put down a few dozen zombies and let other hunters know what to expect.”

“And what is that?” asked James from where he stood leaning against the table.

“Zombies, ghosts… I think hell was emptied.” James froze. 

“Emptied?” asked Portia looking at James.

“Yes. When it went dark, the hell gates were all opened and as far as I can tell, everything came out. The souls of the damned and the demons.” 

“Spencer,” Portia said and James nodded at her.

“How is Sam?” Castiel asked.

James looked at the man, the bearer of ill tidings and the friend of the Winchesters. “Still sleeping. He hasn’t woken up.” Castiel’s head snapped to James’ face at that. “I’ve done everything that I know to help. At this point, it is up to him.” He paused. “He has said some interesting things in his sleep.” He paused again, obviously choosing his words carefully. “Who is Chuck?”

Castiel sighed and dropped his head into his hands before looking up, his hands' palms together as if praying. “Chuck is… Chuck. He is God.”

No one spoke. James and Portia could feel each other’s anxiety over this confirmation of their suspicions.  _ Then Chuck is the reason for the fluctuations in magic. _ James wasn’t even sure which of them said it.

“What are you?” Portia finally asked.

Castiel looked up startled. “I thought you knew. I’m an Angel.” Portia backed away from Sam’s bedside and James ran through a list of spells that might possibly work against an angel. Five years ago, if someone had said that angels existed he would have laughed, but he had heard too many stories recently to doubt that they were real. And that they were violent.

Castiel looked at them with a slightly hurt look. “I’m not going to hurt you. I have no reason to. Sam trusts you, so I trust you.” Castiel turned back to look at Sam and slowly James and Portia relaxed. They had a silent conversation on what to do in a worst-case scenario and both agreed that the risks of waking Sam were outweighed by the benefits. Castiel seemed to be in a trance and ignored them as they ground the herbs and he performed the spell over a new potion.

“Castiel?” Portia asked, holding the potion in a plastic cup from the bathroom. The angel looked up. “We can wake him up with this. We think he has healed enough that he’ll be okay.” She offered the angel the cup, who took it and with one hand supporting Sam’s head held the cup to his lips. Sam swallowed, coughed, and swallowed some more. Castiel continued pouring, waiting for the coughing to subside then pouring more. When Sam had swallowed the whole portion they all watched and waited. Castiel gently put Sam’s head back down on the pillow.

They waited over an hour, every minute James’ anxiety rising before Sam’s eyelids flickered and all three let out held breaths. His eyes flickered again and Castiel held his hand. They all saw when Sam gently squeezed Castiel’s hand. Castiel smiled and James felt a weight lift off of him. 

A glass of water and a coughing fit later they had Sam propped up in bed, left arm in a sling and looking around the hotel room. He was pale, slightly feverish, and silent. He kept looking around the room as if looking for someone else. When there was no more fussing that anyone could think of they all sat back and Sam looked from person to person. 

Finally, he croaked out the question “Where’s Dean?” James and Portia looked at Castiel hoping that he would answer the question they had been avoiding.

Castiel hung his head for a moment then looked Sam in the eye. “I don’t know. He hasn’t contacted me.” There was silence and James and Portia felt like they were watching a private moment but unable to leave. They needed to know as well. Especially since Dean had always been the Winchester Wild Card. 

“Where is Jack?” Sam asked, pain crossing his face.

“I gave him a hunter’s funeral.” 

A tear slipped down the side of Sam’s face before he asked. “Cass, What happened?” Sam closed his eyes for a moment and opened them to say. “Last thing I remember is a zombie hitting me in the head. How did we end up in James and Portia’s hotel room?”

Cass took a deep breath then told his story. “As the zombies approached, I used my grace to blast some of them away.” Sam nodded as if he remembered this part. “When the fighting started you began losing too much blood. I tried to heal you but it did nothing. Dean protected you as you pulled Jack into the fountain. You fought from there and we stood on the sides. I kept using my grace to thin the numbers, Dean was fighting. When you went down, he was desperate, he fought the way he did when he was a demon. He held nothing back. He purposefully pulled the dead zombies on top of you and Jack. He was protecting you. I think their weight stopped the bleeding. Eventually, I used up my grace and blacked out.” In a quieter voice, Cass said, “I’m still out of grace.” Portia looked at James and silently asked  _ What does that mean? _ He shrugged in response. Sam closed his eyes. 

“When I came to, it was quiet. I pushed the dead off me and looked around, but other than a few incapacitated but alive zombies there were only corpses. I looked for Dean but couldn’t find him. So I pulled you and Jack out. I tried to heal you again, but it still didn’t work, just exhausted me. So I carried you and Jack to the truck, bandaged you up, and looked for Dean again. There was a trail of zombie bodies leading to the cars, but no Dean. I think he tried to lead them away from us.” Then more firmly he said, “Dean was not among the dead.”

“I was going to take you to the hospital, but you woke up and said to come here instead. You half walked to their room, said hello and passed out.”

Eyes still closed Sam asked, “How long?”

Portia answered in a soft voice, “Over two days.” Sam’s eyes snapped open.

“Where’s my phone?”

Cass pulled a crushed phone out of a pocket. “I needed your passwords to switch you to a new phone.” They all sat in suspense as Sam talked Cass through switching his phone over. Finally, Cass handed the phone over and they all waited for service to finish connecting. Sam’s phone began to beep. Each missed call, text message, voicemail, and email beeped their existence to the world before the last one finished and they waited for the beeping to end. Finally, Sam opened the screen and looked at his notifications. He had over 200 notifications, but not one of them was from Dean. Sam and Cass looked at each other. If Dean had had access to a phone, half the notifications would have been from him. Cass had been hoping that Dean was angry with him and that was why he had no notifications from him. It wouldn’t have been the first time Dean had played the silent game with him.

“Cass, we have to find him.” Sam pulled the covers down and tried to sit up before collapsing an instant before three pairs of hands could push him back down. “Cass, find him.” The anguish in Sam’s eyes was evident. “I’m useless. Find him, Cass.”

Portia looked at James and he spoke up. “I can help. Give me something of his and I can track him.”

“Dean is warded from most scryings,” Sam said. “We had to be.”

“Let me try.” 


	5. Scrying

Sam’s face had gone even paler when Cass pulled out Dean’s car keys, which he had found in the fountain. Portia and James had laid out a huge map on a table they had pulled up next to the bed. They were going to do a more difficult tracking spell that would help them follow Dean’s trail. It would follow Dean’s movements and show his trail on the map. As James finished the incantation he cut his arm and let five drops fall onto Lebanon, Kansas. 

Portia covered the cut and they all watched as the drops of blood spread out, blotchy as if they couldn’t find their source, then they leaned north and the bead led north up the map into Nebraska following the roads right up to the cemetery where everything had gone so horribly wrong. When the bead was about to shrivel up, Portia uncovered the cut and James added more blood to the map. At the cemetery, it splashed itself and the spell ended. 

“What happened?” Sam asked from the bed. “What does that mean?”

“It means that something started blocking tracking while he was at the cemetery.” James locked eyes with Cass.

“Can you try tracking someone else? To prove a theory.” James nodded. 

“Portia, go down to the desk and get another map then cut a scrap of Sam’s bloody clothes. I’ll prepare the rest.” She nodded and left.

“James, why do you have my bloody clothes?” Sam asked an edge to his voice.

James turned to Sam. “Because I cut them off you and I thought the maids would notice bloody clothes in the trash or the smell of smoke if I tried to incinerate them in here.”

“Oh.” Sam looked a little sheepish.

“Sam, go to sleep. It’ll be a couple hours before I have the energy to do this again.”

 

When they ran the tracking spell on Sam the bead of blood also went splat at the cemetery. Since Sam had refused to sleep between spells James had made eye contact with Cass then cast a sleep spell over Sam. 

“In his condition that should keep him asleep for at least six hours.”

Cass nodded, “Good.” 

“Castiel, I owed Sam and Dean big from a few years back. My debt is repaid. If the souls of Hell really are escaped, then I need to find a place to hunker down and plan my defenses. There are a few newly escaped souls that are going to be tracking me down. When you left I put down a number of warding spells, but they are temporary. Do you have a safe place you can take Sam to? I imagine he will also have a number of enemies coming back for him.”

“Yes, I can take him tomorrow.”


End file.
